


Dirty Little Secret

by cherry3point14



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, F/M, I'mma make you a line, MIND SMUT, Mind Reading, Sam is a dirty ho, Say crack one more time, You can hear things in your HEAD, cracky crack, dirtly little fucker, get to snorting, just straight and pure, mind smut?, sexy mind reading, uncut crack, you know I'm starting to think this is not how I'm supposed to use the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 20:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18080750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry3point14/pseuds/cherry3point14
Summary: A spell goes awry and you’re left with mind reading capabilities for the exact length of time needed to fulfill this narrative. Which gives you a golden opportunity to discover Sam’sdirtylittle secrets.(A dream by my girl @divadinag that she kindly donated to the cause).





	Dirty Little Secret

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT the FUCK is this trash? 
> 
> Thoughts are in **_bold italic_**.

You’re not supposed to do new magic by yourself but petulance was a childhood trait you only pretended to outgrow. Plus there are some spells that you can do better, faster and easier than breathing. Tracking spells, summoning spells, any of the things you use in the pursuit of evil bastards. It’s your job, you have to be good at those. Being good at the easy stuff convinces you all spells will be a piece of cake.

You’ve been trying to learn new magic, or old magic depending on your perspective. Useful magic. The spells that aren’t the most necessary but might make your lives easier. You don’t want to start killing people for dissing your book club, it would just be nice to wiggle your nose and kill _something_. And no, that’s not how real magic works and no, this isn’t an episode of Bewitched. You’re still good at magic though, you’re a fast learner. It’s why you’ve taken over doing most of the spells for the boys. You have an affinity for it even if you’d never go as far as to call yourself a full witch.

That doesn't mean there aren't mishaps.

Rowena, when she is here, tends to bitch and complain about teaching you. She scoffs in that gravelly Scottish way of hers and calls you a ‘bampot’ when something goes wrong. Which you looked up a week later and why can’t she say ‘idiot’ like everyone else? Underneath the grumbling you can tell she likes that someone is willing to listen to her wax poetic about the sanctity of it all. And even if you roll your eyes Rowena knows you’re listening. You don’t underestimate her power and in return she’s saved you from yourself more times than you’d care to admit.

Back to the whole not doing new magic alone. It wasn’t a hard and fast rule, more a self-imposed safety net. Your unlikely friendship with Rowena aside she hadn’t felt the need to set any boundaries. She would have trusted you to go it alone, sometimes. However, you did not trust yourself. So, you go for weeks at a time while she’s gone, practicing the same dull, tired tricks you’ve already mastered.

Today though, it got a little _too_ boring. Call it a perfect storm. You’ve been sulking with nothing to do, there’s no case to distract you and, to top it all off, you found a cool spell. Did you need any more reason than that?

The description in the file says something vague about gaining knowledge fast. That’s a spell you can get on board with. Who isn’t up for gaining a bit of knowledge without all that learning? Then there’s this extra note. A tiny asterisk and two words hidden at the bottom of the page, ‘ _psychedelic results_ ’. It’s not unusual to see tiny notes here or there in the archives. Everything typed up neatly and then the scrawl of human commentary. Increasingly those notes are in your handwriting or one of the boys. But this tiny addition is a men of letters original. There is nothing on this earth that is going to stop you trying out a spell labeled ‘psychedelic’.

It’s seems easy enough anyway so how much harm can it do? It doesn’t even need blood. Only the bad spells needed blood. This one is just some pretty words.

Robore scientia. Audi venti. Tui mens aperta est. Illud quidem intellegitur.

Sounds harmless. Of course, you need to clear your head and get into the right mind space first. All that stuff Rowena tells you is important. Then it’s words and words are harmless on their own. So inconsequential that when nothing happens you chalk it up to a bunch of phooey and get on with your evening. The men of letters were boring, probably. They had a boner for the Latin, maybe. Psychedelic results, your ass.

* * *

Nothing is immediately different when you open your eyes the following morning. You’re still you; two arms, two legs, and two eyes begging not to be opened all the way. Your sheets are soft, it’s truly one of those days where you wouldn’t be mad if you were forced at gunpoint to stay in bed all day. Unfortunately, there’s never a madman or monster that wants to keep you warm and snuggly. The world is poorer for it. But not all of your body gets the memo about relaxing. While you try and snuggle your way further into the warmth of your pillows your foot starts tapping. Your bladder has woken up and now it’s game over.

Once you’re up and out of the bathroom it only makes sense to go and get coffee otherwise you really will sleep all day. You’re the first out of bed so bunker rules mean you’re making a pot. And they say waking up early is good for you.

“Morning Y/N.” Dean shuffles into the kitchen once the smell of coffee he didn’t have to make reaches his room. He looks as bleary-eyed as you felt waking up. You feel his pain on a cosmic level, neither of you is what anyone would call morning people.

“Morning, sleep ok?”

“As good as I’m gonna.” He yawns as he answers which leads you to believe it’s a lie.

**_Or as good as I can get with the fucking nightmare I’ve been having the last week anyway._ **

He’s facing away from you, still pouring his coffee. Even though his words seem to echo strangely you still assume he said them. Naturally, you’re concerned.

“You had a nightmare? I’m sorry, that sucks. Wanna talk about it?”

He spins towards you causing his robe to whip around his legs, but not so fast that he spills his much-needed caffeine. “What? No. How did you know that?”

“You just said that you had a nightmare?”

 **_Shit, did I say that out loud? Don’t want to worry her and there’s no way in hell I wanna talk about it._ ** “Nah, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

This time he’s looking at you so you see the way his brows knit together but his lips don't move at first. His mouth stays shut and yet you can hear him. Clear as a bell. Clearer maybe. You hear him better than your own thoughts. It seems impossible but then he opens his mouth and tells you it’s nothing.

And you know it’s not nothing. You know he’s lying to protect you because you _heard_ him.

You fucking heard him in your head like a mind-reading psychopath.

It doesn’t take a genius to work out what’s going on but it does take an idiot to try a spell without knowing what it does. Shitty psychedelic magic.

You take a too hot gulp of the last of your coffee not bothering to put your mug in the sink. You’ve got to get out of here and fix this before you hear something that will haunt you forever. “Ok cool. Sorry. I have to- listen I got to...”

“You ok?” He calls out as you’re trying to stumble backward out of the room and away from whatever power you've inherited like it’s restricted to the kitchen. It’s not, obviously, reading minds follows you like a bad smell. Even a few steps outside of the room you still hear his words, his thoughts, zip inside your head.

**_Jesus, someone’s ten pounds of crazy in a five-pound sack today._ **

It’s fainter this time sure. You’re stepping away from the source. Not that you know how this works, it’s all one big assumption after another, but it’s still there. Dean in your head, calling you crazy. You’ll punch him for that later, once you know you won’t have to hear him whine about it in your head after.

You’re not crazy, you’re hearing his thoughts is all. Or everyone's thoughts? You haven’t tested it yet. Not that you want to test it but if you end up hearing just Dean’s thoughts you’re going to be super pissed. He’ll figure it out and broadcast nothing but tentacle porn all day.

You need to get back to your room, quickly, but you also need to be cautious for other signs of life. The last thing you need is to find out that Jack isn’t the sweet cupcake you think he is. They can all keep their thoughts to themselves, thank you very much.

Your bedroom door closing is a protective barrier between you and the rest of the world. Nobody ever read minds through a closed door, right? Or at least that’s why you feel so relieved to be back in your small personal space. Nothing to do with your phone being here. Or your favorite witch friend (only witch friend) being on your speed dial. 

“Rowena.”

“Y/N I know you’ve come to think of me as something of a mentor if you will, but I do have a life outside of holding your hand.”

A quick eye roll for historical records before you continue pacing, “I don’t have time to riff. I can- I mean I’ve only tried it on Dean but I can read minds!”

There’s a deliberate pause on the other end. Then when you think she might click her fingers and solve everything she snaps out a laugh instead. “Come on now, that’s ridiculous. Even for you.”

“That’s what I thought but I heard Dean in my head and I was watching his face and his lips definitely weren’t moving. I’m reading minds over here, his voice was in my head! I’m a freak and I need you to fix me!”

She sighs and you can only imagine how dramatically. As much as she loves to save the day you suspect it’s only so she can pretend she doesn’t want to the entire time she’s helping.

“Well, you best tell me what spell you did.”

You fumble on your desk for the words that yesterday you’d almost put back in the archives for being useless. The first time you repeat the Latin it’s so quickly it might have all been one word. Then you take a breath to calm your soul and enunciate this time. She scribbles them down on the other end of the phone.

“Tui mens aperta est? Tui mens... The spell is definitely about your mind so that makes sense at least. Usually these things only last a day or so without ingredients or a specific timeframe. But I suppose I can look into it just in case. Make sure you haven’t done any permanent damage.”

Easily some of the weight lifts from your chest. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I owe you one.”

“Correction, you owe me enough that you’ll never pay them all back but on this occasion, I’m doing myself a favor too. The last thing I need is you swimming around in my head the next time I’m in town.”

With that, she hangs up, which isn't especially surprising. Pleasantries like “goodbye” are not Rowena’s style. You’re not even sure if they’re in her vocabulary.

But as is your tradition you frown at the phone anyway due to the abrupt end of the conversation. While you waited for Rowena to figure your life out you only had two options. Stay here in peace and quiet or go out there to face the music.

Rowena only said twenty-four hours. You’ve had longer Netflix binges than that. Besides hadn’t you wanted to stay in bed all day anyway?

* * *

Four episodes. Only four before your neck aches from choosing a dumb position to lay in and your mouth is dry. Food and water, plus a walk to the kitchen, that’s what you needed.

You’ve almost forgotten why you were hiding. Luckily Dean was hanging around with the sole purpose to remind you.

**_Tastes so good, make a grown man cry. Sweet Cherry Pie._ **

When you walk in everything looks normal. He's sitting there eating a slice of pie. This is normal Thursday stuff here. It’s just you can hear Dean singing Warrant in your head while he sits there eating. And somehow you’ve got to keep a straight face. You’ve got to walk through this room looking for something to eat while he sings to himself. No, not sings, belts it out. There’s a concert in Dean’s head and the poor guy has no idea you’re invited.

You should probably tell them. It’s only fair. Not telling them is almost an invasion of privacy. _Almost_.

If you tell them then you have to admit that you messed up a spell and they’ll either ridicule you or do that pouty judging thing they love. You don’t want to deal with that today. You don’t want it any day but you definitely don’t want to deal with it while you can hear the things they think but don’t say.

At the very least when you say, “hey,” he stops for a second. The moment of silence is nice while he nods in your direction, before he resumes his song.

Ok, solution. That’s what you have to do. Talk constantly so he doesn’t have time to think.

“Do we have any chocolate? I don’t know if I want chocolate or chips. Maybe both. Should I go on a supply run? Do you think we have enough soap?” For a minute it works. Dean looks up at you with pie rolling around in his mouth and a little crease in his brow. The silence is beautiful. Even when he becomes more confused than curious he’s still quietly listening.

Trouble is you quickly run out of things to say.

 **_What the fuck was that?_ **“You feeling ok sweetheart?”

Ok, so the singing has stopped. That’s something, progress at least.

“Nothing. Don’t know what you’re talking about, I'm normal.”

 **_Since when is a mile a minute crazy normal?_ ** “You sure, you’ve been a little off all day?”

What is it with Dean thinking you’re crazy? Sure you’re not exactly calm and collected today but he jumps straight to crazy every time you open your mouth. You’d be offended if there was a plausible way for you to know what he was thinking.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve not been acting cr- I mean off. I’ve been normal. You’re the weird one.” You’ve only managed to grab a bottle of water so far but you’re already thinking you should get out of here. As lonely as your room is it’s the only place you’re safe.

“Yeah, right.” He mutters slowly, glaring at you out the corner of his eye like you might explode if he makes any sudden movements.

**_Who am I kidding? I can't stay mad at you sweetheart._ **

You’re making a hasty exit from the kitchen, again, when you turn at the sound of his voice. You’re about to apologize or try to make amends. It’s not his fault that you can hear his inner monologue anyway.

Of course, that was when you thought he was trying to be nice to you, not say, staring lovingly at his pie.

* * *

Sam is sitting in his usual spot, the library lamps cast a golden glow over the tables. He’s got his laptop and a book because the man can never have too much to read all at once and the room is so _quiet_. You're not alone but it’s silent and you realize it’s because he’s reading, like when Dean had been listening. Sam is concentrating on something else so he’s not thinking. Not consciously anyway.

The plot continues to thicken. Apparently, you can’t go rooting around inside their heads for anything you want. It’s the thoughts at the forefront of their minds that you can hear. Sam’s reading other people's words so he’s not thinking his own.

Thank god.

You don’t say anything as you sit down because you don’t need to. Now is where you get to pretend everything is fine. Your phone is in your pocket waiting for Rowena’s call, you’ve got a bottle of water and some grimoires in front of you. You’re set for hours. It’s so achingly close to normal that the mind reading thing might be a crazy fever dream.

Luckily the spell finds a way to remind you.

**_She’s wearing that tight little tank again, I swear she’s trying to kill me. Today might be when she pulls it off. Although I’d much prefer she pulls that top off._ **

You can’t seem like you’re reacting but holy fuck are you reacting. You only allow your head to turn a little towards the kitchen looking for Dean. The man with honeyed nicknames on his lips and a wink for everyone occasion. He must have started some sort of afternoon delight porn viewing in the goddamn kitchen. You had to stop him at all costs. You _so_ didn’t need to know what he thought about while jerking off.

**_Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how it rides up when she stretches showing off that slither of stomach. Definitely, don’t think about…_ **

**_You make me weak. I wanna die, just when you said we’d try. Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’. Each other._ **

Suddenly the first voice is interrupted by more of the same bad singing from earlier. Dean walks past you from the kitchen and out of the library. His singing is a passing sound that zooms from your left to your right. Despite yourself you mutter, “Journey? Really?” Forgetting that the song interrupted something else.

“What did you say?” Dean stops walking and singing simultaneously.

“Nothing.” You snap at him, enough to be believable. And because mind reading is a ridiculous concept even for them, he takes you at your word. He shrugs and makes a quick exit but you can hear his thoughts fading as he goes. **_Thank fuck for that._ **

As soon as he’s gone it all comes back to you. The thoughts Dean’s singing had interrupted. Mystery voice number one.

There’s no way it’s Sam, right? Like that’s too far out of the realms of possibility. Look at his face. He's so pure and innocent. There’s no way he’s thinking about some girls tank top riding up and, wait, is Sam thinking about _you_?

Woah, woah, woah. Let’s take some giant moon size steps back. Sam isn’t thinking about you. He can’t be. Sam isn’t a little pervert thinking about your seeing your stomach when you stretch.

No. First, you had to establish it was even Sam at all. Trial and error. That’s what you needed to do. For all you know you're picking up some biker from a dive bar two towns over. You had a theory, a crazy one at that, and like any good scientist, you needed to test it out.

It’s been radio silence since you called Dean out so you’ve got to do something that’ll get a reaction. Something he can’t resist. You’re drumming your index finger on the table while you think when the tapping becomes a familiar tune. Familiarity breeds a plan. Slowly you add in some humming, a few more fingers, there's harmonies. Eventually you’re as deep into the performance as Dean had been in his head. Now, for the moment of truth.

“Da nah nah nah. Da nah nah nah.”

**_Thunder!_ **

You can’t let your jaw drop yet. It might have been a fluke.

“Da Nah Nah Nah. Da Nah Nah Nah.”

**_Thunder!_ **

The second time draws a little laugh out of you so suddenly that the sound might be a demon escaping your body. Except without all the hoopla of black smoke and actually being possessed. When he looks up from his book it’s a struggle to hide the smile on your face. You end up thumping your own chest like it was a cough all along.

You can’t keep denying it. The voice is clearly Sam. That’s step one anyway, establishing it’s him you’re hearing. How do you find out who he was thinking about?

Some things are better left to the hands of fate. You’re whistling, it’s something you do absentmindedly and most times you don’t even realize it. Today Sam points it out.

**_God. Look at the way her lips pucker while she whistles. Those fucking lips of hers, I want to taste her, them. Imagine them wrapped around my cock instead of that tune. I bet she’s a great little cocksucker._ **

What. The. Fuck.

He’s a deviant. He’s a sex-obsessed deviant. The signature Sam smile hides the thoughts of a sex pest. And you’ve got to sit here and pretend that you don’t notice, that you can’t hear him think about you. You’ve got to make believe that you’ve stopped whistling for no apparent reason.

**_I guess it’s too late then. I’m already thinking about her. Sitting here like a creep wanting to fuck Y/N. She’s supposed to be my friend. I’m not meant to have memorized the way her clothes clung to every fucking curve when she came in all wet from the rain yesterday._ **

**_Are you kidding me? Every time. What am I twelve?_ **

He clears his throat and at this point, the sound being outside your own head, it might as well be miles away. Meanwhile Sam’s thoughts continue to bounce around your head in an attempt to disconnect you from the outside world.

You almost miss the way he shifts in his seat. If you needed confirmation, more than him thinking your name, the thing he’s trying to conceal under the table would be the slap in the face you needed. His chair scrapes against the floor a little and he coughs. A ridiculous fake sounding cough for this ridiculous fake sounding situation.

Sam wants to fuck you and you don’t know how long he’s wanted to fuck you but he’s thought about this. Actually, the dirty mind hidden under his Disney princess hair has thought quite _extensively_ about fucking you.

You never expected this from Sam of all people. Dean? Yeah, you’d expect this from Dean before breakfast, any day of the week. It’s why you’d looked around for the older Winchester when the filth had first entered your mind. But Sam? He was the one who always insisted you needed your own room on the road in that comforting, thoughtful way of his. When you were stuck sharing with the boys he’d avert his eyes when slip out of the bathroom in a towel. Sam was the respectful Winchester who rolled his eyes at Dean’s dirty jokes.

Except now you know, Sam wasn’t sweet when he did those things. He was trying to save himself from the apparent torture of being in the same room as you. God, why did he never say anything?

**_One day I’m going to have to tell her that I want I want to strip her clothes off and taste every inch of her with my tongue._ **

You’ll never understand why but that’s what kicks off _you_ imagining it too.

You sprawled out on his bed, covered by the expanse of his body. Sam, all angled features, licking a slow stripe up your collarbone. Kissing his way along your jaw. Whispering every dirty thought you can hear in your head into the shell of your ear. His teeth sink into your throat and the version of you still sitting at the library table chokes.

**_Fuck, imagine her choking on my cock instead of air._ **

Under his instruction the fantasy changes. You’re on your knees in front of him now. Your hands tugging on his zipper like you’re opening a Christmas present. He’s smiling down at you and stroking his fingers through your hair encouragingly.

**_I bet she’s a tease. Bet she takes her time. She’d wrap her hands around my dick and squirm but still make me wait before she takes me in her mouth._ **

You shift in your own seat now but he doesn’t seem to notice. Thank god he can’t see the images he’s now narrating in your head. You shaking his jeans down his body, palming his hard length through his underwear. The groan that comes out of him shoots straight to your core and you clench around nothing. Even imagined in your head the sound you pull out of him is delicious. So much so that you can’t tell if your body reacts in the fantasy or in real life.

**_Those eyes looking up at me with my cock on her tongue? I’d die a happy man after seeing that._ **

He’s still managing to pretend to read. Sure he hasn’t turned the page in _hours_ maybe but by comparison you’ve given up acting. You aren’t even looking at the book in your hands. There’s no recognition in your eyes. Nothing but a blank stare into nothingness while you picture _everything_.

God, you would look up at him so desperately when your lips first touch the head of his cock. Your eyes would roll back a little at the taste of his precum on your tongue. You’re not sure how he knows, there might be a look about you, but Sam’s right, you are a good little cocksucker. Or at the very least you would be for him. Somewhere in the blurred space between reality and imagination, you lick your lips. It should frighten you how quickly Sam wanting you has shifted into your own desire, one you didn't even know you had. It should frighten you but it doesn't. It burns you from the inside out instead. 

**_I’d have to stop her. It’d kill me but I’d have to stop her, tell her that I want to cum inside her pretty pussy when I do._ **

Outwardly you can feel your teeth sink into your lip to stop some semblance of a groan from slipping out. Beyond that, you’re lost to the Sam inside your head. He lifts you up off the floor and presses you into the wall. Cold brick pressing against your bare back and his long fingers burning your skin. Everything about him is length, unencumbered longness. And the way he covers you, holds you, makes your toes curl in anticipation.

There’s hardness to him. Everything about him is long and hard, not just his cock as he lines it up against you. It’s not difficult to imagine Sam like this without ever having fucked him. You’ve seen him enough times, torn enough shirts from him to patch him up. You know he’s made of decadent sculpted muscle. You’re so sure that he’d fucking _shine_ with a barely-there sheen of sweat while he fucks you. Fantasy Sam doesn’t even notice your weight while he holds you like a rag doll. He’s digging angry, wide handprints into your thighs where he’s gripping them hard enough to hurt. Your muscles are protesting his hold on you but he’s also the only thing keeping you upright. There’s this dip in his left shoulder that you fall into like you can hide away from him but he won't let you get away that easily. He whispers into your hair. 

“You’re so fucking wet you’re dripping all over my cock.”

Your teeth sink into the meat of his shoulder if only to stop more wanton noises coming out of your mouth. He’s not wrong, he’s teasing you. He’s there but it’s not enough, you're too empty. The way he’s holding you in place makes it impossible to do anything but moan and try to wriggle against him. Searching for relief he won’t let you have yet. You’re so desperate that yeah, he's right, you’re soaked. For him. For Sam.

Sam fucking Winchester.

You give up hiding and pull back to look at him again hoping to convince him with a look. Your fingers lock behind his neck, pulling him to you. His forehead rests against yours watching your mouth while you plead, “Sam, please. I need you.”

Over and over he lets you beg. Smiling at you like any other day. Enjoying his name on your lips like a prayer, a bargain.

“Y/N.”

That’s all the warning you get before he half thrusts into you, half pulls you down onto him. There’s no gentle ease but somehow you know nothing about Sam is gentle. You wouldn’t want it to be.

“Y/N!?”

That was… that was definitely outside your head this time.

You open your eyes, apparently, you’d closed them at somepoint.

“Hey, you okay?” Sam, the real one, is looking at you with concern etched on his face. It’s concern you’ve seen a thousand times before. When something has gone wrong on a hunt or when you’ve told him you didn’t sleep very well.

How _dare_ he pretend this isn’t his fault.

“No, Sam. No. I am so very NOT okay.” You push yourself up from your seat, palms against the table but raising them to air quote ‘okay’. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage and your skin is stretched too tight. You’re needy and unfulfilled and so fucking flustered.

“Woah, what’s going on?” **_Shit, I love it when she gets fired up like this. Makes me want to bend her over this table and hold her still while I make her cum over and over again until…_ **

“That right there!” You point at him accusingly stopping his thoughts in their tracks. The finger you’re holding out in his direction shakes and you’re not sure if it’s anger or frustration. “Those things you’re thinking about me. God! Either fuck me or don’t!”

He stands up himself now. Even separated by the table his height changes the dynamic of the conversation. You’re forced to look up at him, not quite from the same angle as on your knees, in your imagination, but still. It’s enough of a reminder. “What are you talking about?”

You’re annoyed at yourself but more annoyed at him for forcing the truth out of you.

“Fine, you caught me. I messed up a spell and now I can hear people's thoughts, okay? I can hear what you’re thinking.” You tap your own forehead in case the smartest guy in the room doesn’t understand what you’re getting at.

Sam gets it. His brows raise a little bit and he tips his head forward. There’s no surprise in his expression, he understands exactly what you’ve been listening in on. His lips stay in a taut, hard line. But where you expect to see his bitch face or embarrassment, what you get is entirely unexpected.

**_You’ve been listening in on me. Without permission?_ **

Well, that’s new. The rush of heat to your core isn’t, but the timbre of his voice in your head is. That’s different. It’s _sinful_.

“So what if I have?” You sound more confident than you feel. Honestly you don’t know if you feel horny or horrified to be having a conversation with Sam talking in your head.

**_Then you know exactly what I’m going to do to you._ **

Oh, horny. Clenched thighs and goosebumps everywhere that his hands should be. His long fingers twitch by his sides and you stare at them for a second too long.

“I know what you want to do but- but you’ve been too scared to do anything about it.”

He growls. Actually growls in your mind and it’s like surround sound. The shock of it makes you gasp and the vibration travels down your spine. He finally smiles again for getting that reaction out of you.  
  
_**It was a secret. Guess it's not a secret anymore.** _  



End file.
